I make no apologies for this week’s book review. Poetic Gems, selected from
the works of William McGonagall was first printed in 1890, long before the
advent of the ISBN numbering system. My personal copy is from the seventh
impression struck in 1954 and was handed down by my father, so has
sentimental value as well as literary merit.
William McGonagall, self-styled Poet and Tragedian, has carved his own niche
in the literary world’s hall of infamy, as perhaps the world’s worst poet.
Readers of McGonagall’s works have cringed at the verses but yet have helped
them endure for more than 100 years.
McGonagall was the son of an itinerant Irish cotton weaver and describes 18
months of schooling before he joined his penniless parents in the cotton
weaving workforce.
Initially he considered himself a thespian, and applied for the position of
actor, to play Macbeth at a local theatre. After hearing him, the promoter
of the theatre said that if McGonagall paid him one pound he would be
allowed to tread the boards. On hearing this, his workmates in the cotton
weaving game all clubbed together and paid the pound demanded and filled the
theatre to hear his rendition. His delusions of grandeur had their
beginnings there.
In the autobiography at the front of the book, McGonagall describes hearing
the voices telling him to write poetry, and he very factually describes the
euphoria that people with bipolar problems exhibit. He also claims that his
poetry was “composed under the divine inspiration”.
Even the most brief examination of McGonagall’s divinely inspired poetry
shows irregular scansion and an all-embracing need to find a rhyme, by the
end of the line. (Or should that have been “rhyne by the end of the line”?)
In a McGonagallian retrospect, the Scotland Magazine was moved to record,
“McGonagall is often mocked today for writing so many poems relating to
contemporary disasters and battles, but such commemorative verse was very
much a feature of Victorian literature. McGonagall merely did it worse than
everyone else. Tennyson’s epic Charge of the Light Brigade was really just
McGonagall with a competent rhyme scheme and effective scansion!”
Indeed, in his awful way, McGonagall in the 80 poems in his “Poetic Gems”
did describe both historical and current events of the day, with items
covering the battles of Bannockburn and Flodden Field. However, it is in his
relating of the events of the day where he comes into his forte, in my
opinion. Take for example the Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay which
begins:
“Beautiful Railway Bridge of the silvery Tay!
With your numerous arches and pillars in so grand array,
And your central girders, which seem to the eye,
To be almost towering to the sky.”
Unfortunately the bridge collapsed in a storm but was rebuilt. McGonagall
celebrated the event in his poetic best:
“Beautiful new railway bridge of the Silvery Tay,
With your strong brick piers and buttresses in so grand array,
And your thirteen central girders, which seem to my eye,
Strong enough all windy storms to defy.”
Yes, there will never be another like William McGonagall!